


The Case of the Missing Moggy

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-S7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Monty's gone missing."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Missing Moggy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Somniare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/gifts).



> Written for Somniare, who was first to guess one of my [Yuletide](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/yuletide2013/tags/Lewis%20%28TV%29/works) fics. Her prompt was _James, Robbie (and it is Robbie, not Lewis). After fireworks on NYE, Robbie can't find Monty anywhere. :)_ Hope you like it! 
> 
> And with much appreciation to Lindenharp and Uniquepov for excellent beta services.

James is busily typing on his laptop very late one evening when his mobile rings. The face – and name – that appears on the phone’s screen is Robbie Lewis. Bit late for Robbie to be up, he’s thinking as he slides his thumb to answer the call, but then the time and date on the screen clue him in. 

12:15 am, Wednesday 1 January, 2014. Smiling, he says, “Happy New Year, Robbie. Good of you to call.”

“You too, man, but that’s not why I’m phoning.” Robbie sounds worried. “Look, can you come over?”

James is already shoving his feet into shoes and sliding arms into a coat. “Of course. What’s wrong? Nothing’s happened to Laura, I hope?”

“What? No, look, I have to go. Just get over here, yeah?”

“On my way.” He slams the door of his flat behind him and runs to his motorbike. Now that he’s a lowly-paid researcher slowly working towards what he hopes will eventually be a PhD in criminology, he can’t afford a car. He’s also had to move to a smaller flat, but since he doesn’t really care much about his surroundings as long as they allow him to work, sleep and eat, it’s not important.

The bike also allows him to make it over to Robbie’s faster than he could have in a car; he can weave in and out of traffic (in ways which would probably get him pulled over, but he’s got a good nose for traffic coppers and he’s never yet been caught). It’s only as he turns into Robbie’s road that he realises he never clarified whether Robbie’s at his place or Laura’s.

That’s something that’s surprised him; Robbie and Laura have been a couple now for nearly six months, yet Robbie’s still living in his small one-bedroom flat, while Laura’s rattling around in that huge house on her own. He’s not asked, though. While he and Robbie are good friends these days and see each other at least a couple of times a week, one of the few things James feels he understands about friendship is that the best way to keep it is not to intrude where you might not be wanted.

Robbie is at his flat; the lights are all on and the front door’s open. James pulls up outside and takes off his helmet, and Robbie’s immediately running over to him. It strikes him in that moment that he hasn’t actually seen Robbie since Christmas Eve, when they met up in the early evening for a drink and to exchange presents. Robbie’d said he’d be in touch in the next day or so, as he and Laura wanted James to come over for dinner on Boxing Day or the day after. But he’d never called. 

Robbie has his coat on, and he’s looking a bit flustered. “Everything all right?” James asks as he secures his bike and helmet.

“Monty’s gone missing.” As he speaks, Robbie’s scanning the area around his flat, clearly looking for the cat.

James is about to protest at being summoned just because Robbie can’t find his moggy – the cat Robbie frequently refers to as a bloody nuisance, though of course that’s never stopped him fussing over Monty anyway – but a split second’s pause reveals the worry on his friend’s face. “Where did you see him last?”

“I opened the door to watch the fireworks at midnight. Thought he was safely shut up in the bedroom, but next thing I knew I heard a yowl and he rushed past me like a blue streak. Terrified of fireworks, he is.” Robbie pulls a face. “He doesn’t go out, as a rule. Dunno what he was used to before I took him in, but I don’t think he’s had much experience with traffic.”

James nods. “Where have you looked so far?”

Robbie describes walking up and down his own street, searching in front gardens and beneath parked cars, calling for Monty the whole way. James nods. “How far do you think he might have gone?”

Robbie sighs, frustrated. “Oh, I’ve no idea! He’ll be scared out of his wits.” He shakes his head. “Sorry – it was a bit presumptuous of me to ask you to come over.”

James touches Robbie’s arm. “Of course you’re worried. And of course I’ll help. Just tell me what you want me to do.” There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Robbie Lewis, and if the man doesn’t know that by now...

“Thanks, man.” 

They divide the local streets between them, and James retrieves the torch he carries in his bike’s pannier, and they split up, agreeing to meet back at the flat in an hour, unless one of them finds Monty sooner. Robbie’s decided to leave the door just open enough for Monty to let himself in if he makes his own way home. “If I get burgled, so what. I don’t have anything worth stealing, anyway – well, nothing that can’t be replaced.”

It’s not what he thought he’d be doing at half past midnight on New Year’s Day, but Robbie needs him and that’s all that matters. Torch and cat-treats in hand, James sets off along a neighbouring road, calling for Monty and hoping that one of them will find the dratted cat safe and sound, for the sake of Robbie’s peace of mind.

* * *

It’s almost a quarter to two by the time James makes it back to the flat, summoned by a call from Robbie. No, he hasn’t found Monty, he says, but it’s time to call it a night. James lets himself in through the still-ajar door to find Robbie in the kitchen making drinks.

“Still no sign?” he asks, coming to lean against the counter.

“No.” Robbie sighs again. “He’ll turn up when he’s hungry, most likely.” As long as he didn’t end up under a car; there has been a lot of traffic around tonight. James had checked on the roads as well while he was out, though, and saw nothing.

“Yeah.” James comes around the counter to Robbie and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry we couldn’t find him.” He gestures to the mugs. “Don’t make anything for me – I should be getting home.”

“You don’t have to be anywhere in the morning, do you?” He shakes his head. “Then you’ll stay. Cocoa with a dash of brandy, eh? You need warming up.”

Robbie opens the kitchen window so Monty can get in, then they adjourn to the sofa, sitting close together as they always used to. James can’t remember the last time they’ve been like this; certainly not since his working holiday in Kosovo. To say he’s missed this closeness is an understatement. 

To be fair, it’s not entirely Robbie’s fault, or Laura’s, that they haven’t had this kind of closeness in a long time. James has avoided it, finding reasons not to come to Robbie’s flat if he knew his ex-boss would be alone, always suggesting that they met at a pub or other suitably neutral territory. It was okay to take, and savour, those moments of intimacy with Robbie when there wasn’t anyone else in his boss’s life, even though Robbie was never aware of what they meant to James. Once Laura was firmly on the scene, it felt wrong. Tonight... well, he’ll allow himself the indulgence as a treat, just once, but never again.

“Thanks again for coming over, mate. I really appreciate it.”

“Any time. You know that.”

“Yeah, you’re a good bloke. Better mate than I deserve sometimes.” Robbie frowns, looking into the distance. “Owe you an apology. We were supposed to have you over for dinner, an’ I never phoned you.”

James shrugs. It had hurt, a bit, but he’d pushed it away. Robbie has Laura now, and there’s no need for either of them to include him just for old times’ sake. He’s reconciled himself to a future of once-in-a-while meetings for a pint or two with Robbie, perhaps dwindling to exchanging Christmas cards as the years go past. “Don’t worry about it. I assumed you were busy.”

“Not exactly,” Robbie says after a few moments. “There was... other stuff going on.”

Robbie doesn’t elaborate, and James doesn’t ask. But he’s still an ex-copper, and he was a half-decent detective – or half of one, anyway – and he’s able to work a few things out for himself. It’s – or it was – New Year’s Eve, and Robbie’s spent it by himself. There are no signs of anyone else having been here, or of any kind of celebration: no wine-glasses or leftover food, no soft lighting or music playing. No feminine touches in the living-room or kitchen.

Laura hasn’t been here, and if James’s guess is right, she wasn’t expected to be.

They’ve had a row, he assumes, though he can’t imagine that it’s anything too serious. They’ll sort it out in a day or two, he has no doubt, and in the meantime if Robbie wants a sympathetic ear then he’s willing to listen – though he doubts that, too. Robbie’s never been one for talking through his problems; the most he’s ever done is start to mention something, but then he’d change the subject, practically glowering at James to prevent him from asking questions.

He touches Robbie’s hand lightly in reassurance. “You’ll sort it out. And then I’ll invite the two of you to mine for dinner.”

“Maybe.” Robbie reaches for the brandy bottle, which he brought to the table with him. “Have another.”

James hesitates. “I shouldn’t. Won’t be able to drive.”

Ignoring him, Robbie pours measures for both of them anyway. “You can stay here. Already said you’re not busy tomorrow. Stay, an’ I’ll take you out for breakfast in the morning. Or brunch, more likely.” He sips his brandy. “Besides, I don’t like the idea of you riding that thing home this time of night.” Robbie grimaces. “Don’t like you on it at the best of times.”

James shrugs; it’s a discussion they’ve had before, though previously Robbie’d expressed it more as mocking disapproval of James having become a biker. This, now, sounds more like concern for his safety. “I’m fine. You know I don’t take risks.”

“Not your driving I’m worried about. There’re too many idiots on the road.” Robbie nudges him. “Drink up. Already said you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

“I didn’t realise the bike bothered you so much,” James says, sipping his drink. “You know why I got it.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you could’ve found a cheap car,” Robbie grumbles. “I could’ve helped. I know a couple of blokes in the business.”

“But you know what parking’s like around the university.” James smirks faintly. “I could’ve got a bicycle. Would you have liked that any better?”

Robbie grunts. “Would take you ages to get anywhere. If we were meeting at the Trout, I’d have a couple of pints drunk already by the time you got there.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Drinking alone, Robbie? I worry about you...”

* * *

It’s almost half past two when Robbie yawns widely and announces it’s bedtime. James goes to the front door to take one more look around in case Monty’s lurking outside and hasn’t noticed the open window. Robbie rattles a jar of Felix treats, to no avail.

“He’ll turn up.” James brushes Robbie’s arm in reassurance. “He knows who feeds him.”

“Yeah.” Robbie pulls a face. “Daft bloody moggy.” He stands in the open doorway, calling to the cat, but there’s no response. Again, Robbie sighs. “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

James nods, closing the door as Robbie comes inside. “Spare bedding still in the same place?”

Robbie halts, looking taken aback. He frowns, then shakes his head. “I can’t let you sleep on the couch.”

“Never seemed to worry you before,” James comments, puzzled. What, is Robbie withdrawing the invitation to stay?

“Was different then, wasn’t it? I was your boss.” Robbie nods his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Bed’s got plenty of room. Come on.”

Ten minutes later, when he climbs carefully into the spare side of the bed, James is still reeling at the invitation. Robbie apparently thinks nothing of it, though, so James is doing his best to be carefully casual.

Goodnights said, Robbie clicks off the light and James lies on his side, trying to sleep while at the same time still marvelling at where he is. And then, abruptly, the silence is broken.

“Laura and I’ve split up.”

“What?” James rolls over to face Robbie, though he can barely see the older man in the dark. “Why?” Almost immediately, he adds, “Sorry. None of my business.”

“Wouldn’t have told you if I thought it was none of your business.” The mattress dips and shifts as Robbie turns over as well. “Don’t think it was anything in particular. There was no big row or anything like that. We both just gradually realised that what we thought was love was... well, friendship.” James hears Robbie shrug. “Laura said she wanted more than a comfortable romance, an’ I can’t blame her, really.”

“Mmm.” This conversation is a potential minefield; James treads carefully. “When did all this happen?”

“Over Christmas. Wasn’t all at once, like. We both knew something wasn’t right, an’ we finally talked about it on Boxing Day. Decided we’d give ourselves a couple of days to think about it before making any irrevocable decisions, but when we woke up the next day and still felt the same, there didn’t seem much point in waiting.”

“I suppose.” James frowns. “Are you all right? Relationship break-ups aren’t easy–”

“Oi. Thought you were studyin’ to be a criminologist, not a counsellor.” Robbie sounds amused, though. “I’m fine. It’s not like we were together for years, after all. Never even moved in together, and that should’ve told me something. An’ we’re still friends; that won’t change. So you don’t need to worry about me, soft lad.”

The darkness, and this unusual confessional mood Robbie seems to be in, allows James the freedom to be a little more honest than he usually would. “Goes with the territory, I’m afraid. Just like you with my bike, probably.”

Robbie snorts. “Daft sod. But I am okay. Not pining or anything ridiculous like that.” He exhales slowly, and James waits. “I suppose... well, I miss bein’ close to someone. Cuddling, holding someone in bed, that sort o’ thing. Was without it for so long after Val, an’ I thought I’d never have it again, and then I did – it’s hard to lose it again.”

James can barely swallow; his throat seems to have swollen. He doesn’t even stop to think; he shifts closer to Robbie, wraps his arms around the other man, and pulls him into a hug. 

Just as his brain catches up with his instinct and he’s about to apologise and pull away, Robbie’s arms come around him and hold him close. “Ah, James.” The words emerge on a sigh, and Robbie buries his face in the crook of James’s shoulder. His grip on James tightens, and James moves closer, stroking Robbie’s back, burying his face in Robbie’s hair.

He’s not foolish enough to imagine that Robbie will accept this kind of comfort, this intimacy, from him again, but his friend needs it tonight and there is _nothing_ James would not do for Robbie Lewis. Including pushing aside his own feelings and needs to be a caring friend; a friend who, once morning comes, will pretend that none of this ever happened.

And then Robbie’s lips press against his throat.

James doesn’t trust himself to move. He lies perfectly still, explanations rushing through his head: Robbie has no idea what he just did; he’s drunk; he’s forgotten who he’s with. It was a mistake, and as soon as he realises what he’s done he’s going to pull away and mutter a semi-coherent apology.

Robbie’s lips trail up the line of James’s throat to his jaw.

It’s killing James to stay still, not to do more than keep his arms exactly where they are, holding Robbie in a hug.

Robbie’s lips shift to the edge of James’s mouth. “This is okay, isn’t it? Only you’re not...”

The tension leaves James so abruptly he almost sobs. He pushes away the disbelief that’s quickly building up, and turns his head just enough to meet Robbie’s lips. The kiss – kisses – are tender and affectionate, and certainly not platonic, and it’s all he can do not to deepen the embrace. This, whatever this is, can’t be real. Robbie’s lonely, missing Laura; for whatever reason, and James is sure it’s unconscious, Robbie’s using him as a surrogate. Tomorrow, he’ll be embarrassed and apologetic, and it’s up to James to make sure things don’t go too far now.

So he gently disengages, ending the kiss. He’s about to end the embrace as well, but Robbie’s arms tighten around him. “Nice. Didn’t think I’d got it wrong, lad.”

The shock courses through James like lightning. Not a surrogate, then. “You didn’t... you knew?” Knew that James wanted him, loved him, wanted _this_. Oh, Christ.

Robbie slides a hand up into James’s hair, stroking lightly. “Known for a while.” He pauses, seemingly thinking, and brushes a gentle kiss against James’s jaw. “To tell the truth, that’s probably at least part of why it didn’t work out with Laura. Didn’t realise it until after we broke up, though.” James doesn’t speak; can’t speak. Is Robbie blaming him? Had Laura guessed too, and been jealous? “Been thinking about you. A lot,” Robbie adds. “Not the best idea when you’re supposed to be in a relationship with someone else. Felt a bit daft once I’d figured it out.”

_Oh_. Not just him, then. “Oi, don’t criticise the best detective I ever worked with,” he teases lightly, then – just because he can – he leans in and kisses Robbie. 

Robbie needs no encouragement at all to kiss back, and the next five minutes are the best of James’s life so far. But, too soon, it’s Robbie who ends the kiss this time. “Certainly wouldn’t call that just _comfortable_ ,” he comments, sounding amused, and James recalls how Robbie described things with Laura.

“Definitely not as far as I’m concerned.” He could say far more, including trying to describe exactly how he’s feeling just now (ecstatic, disbelieving, floating on air – or, if he cared to be blasphemous, as if he’s passed through the gates of Paradise). 

Robbie’s fingers comb through his hair. “Good. Mind if we leave it here for tonight, though, love?” James’s heart swells practically to bursting at the endearment. “Didn’t exactly intend this tonight and, not that I regret it or anything, I just think we should maybe sleep on it and – well, figure out what we want when we’re not half-drunk, yeah?”

James knows what he wants, but he also knows that Robbie’s right. Neither of them is the sort to make major decisions on impulse, and for Robbie this is a huge decision. It’s not one James wants him to take lightly; if Robbie does have second thoughts tomorrow, it’ll be much easier for James to back away if this is all they’ve shared. He hopes, anyway.

“Oi.” Robbie gives him a shake. “Stop that, you.”

“Stop what?”

“Planning out the entire scenario where I tell you I’ve changed me mind. Not going to, you daft sod. I just want to do this right.”

James huffs a faint laugh. “All right.” And it is, and it’s going to be. _If ever any beauty I did see, which I desired and got, t’was but a dream of thee._

“C’mere.” Robbie settles onto his side; James shifts to lie back against him, and Robbie’s arm wraps around him. “Goodnight, bonny lad.”

“Goodnight...” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Got to think of something to call you. Tomorrow,” he adds as a yawn overtakes him.

“Mmm.”

He’s almost asleep, Robbie snuffling lightly behind him, when there’s a sudden thud on the bed. It’s followed immediately by a happy meow and then purrs, as Monty curls up between his and Robbie’s feet and settles himself for sleep.

“Dratted moggy,” Robbie mutters. But James isn’t complaining. First chance he gets, he’s buying Monty a year’s supply of his favourite Felix treats.


End file.
